Confessions of a Prison Cafeteria
by Roseshay102
Summary: What if Melody was Daphne s real mom...with a twist


"Can you hear me?" I said and signed these words at the same time hoping something would make sense to the woman in the orange jumpsuit.

"No!" she signed back to me rather rudely.

That was not the answer I was hoping for. Her deafness irritated me.

A hand waved in my face. "Well don't just stand there staring at me! What do you want?"

Where do I begin?

"My name is Daphne Gonzolas. I came here to see you." I looked around what I assumed was the cafeteria while I tried to figure out what to say next. I start twisting my hair nervously. "You had a daughter sixteen years ago."

"Yes," she says raising her eyebrows in curiosity.

"You stuck her on a doorstep and took off!"

Her eyebrows furrowed and she stared at me. She was angry now. Her hands flew as she signed. "Who told you that? How do you know about her?"

"You want to know how I know about her? My parents told me about her. You want to know_ why_ they told me about her? I _am_ her. I'm the daughter you left on a doorstep to be forgotten."

The anger in her eyes had turned to shock. "I don't need your lies. You have no right to come in here and pretend to be my child! Don't you think I suffer enough already being in this hellhole?"

"Why would I travel all the way out here just to lie to you? I wanted to know if you really did care when you abandoned me or if I was just a mistake that you didn't want."

I could see the emotions pass through her cold emerald eyes: anger, pain, sadness, confusion.

Suddenly her whole demeanor changed. The anger and confusion were gone. I couldn't read what was left but thought there was a slight glimmer of hope. "Oh, honey, of course I wanted you, but I knew I couldn't raise you. I was drunk pretty much all the time and…"

"So let me get this straight…you were more worried boozing day in and day out then you were about raising your newborn baby."

"No sweetie." Her signing was desperate and pleading. "It wasn't like that. I mean, raising a baby was going to be hard enough the way I was…I mean, look at me now! I'm in prison for drug possession. I haven't changed. I could never have raised a kid."

I put my hand up to stop her. "You know what? Just stop it. I don't even want to hear anymore."

I turned on my heel and walked out the door leaving the mother I'd waited so long to meet alone.

I had begun searching for this woman almost a month ago. Clinton Correctional Facility was the last place I had expected to find her; and I was now starting to think that finding her may not have been the best idea. Everything about her made me cringe. Her blonde hair was a total mess, her sharp green eyes felt like they were piercing right into my soul. Her body looked like it had suffered years of drug abuse. This woman scared me, but I was also kind of glad she looked the way she did. I got a weird sense of satisfaction in knowing that I had not sunk to the level that she had. I was better than In fact, I was quite the opposite. I had two loving parents, and an amazing house. I made good grades, and I was the photographer for the school paper. I was happy and successful.

I had planned a longer visit in New York. If I wasn't going to spend it with my mom, I would spend it doing things I liked. I toured some of the famous sights and the next day went shopping for art supplies. I was at the art store looking for some oil paints. When I looked up I saw the woman I'd left in prison days before across the aisle looking at brushes. Before I could leave she looked up. She immediately came over to me.

"What are you doing here?!" If I was talking I would've been screaming.

"I just got out yesterday. I wasn't expecting to see you. As long as you're here, I still want to talk to you."

"No way! I told you when I left the other day I didn't want to hear any more of what you have to say." I started to turn away but her hand stopped me.

"Please, just give me five minutes. I want to explain myself better." She seemed more desperate than before, like making up with me was the only thing that mattered to her.

"Fine. There's a coffee shop down the street. We can talk there."

We walked in silence. I was a few paces behind her. She walked faster than I did. I was staring at the ground trying to decide if I was allowed to be this mad at a woman who was trying so hard to connect with me. I glance up and see her turning into the coffee shop. She made her way to a table in the back and I followed. A server came over.

"What can I get for you two ladies today?"

"Iced coffee please." I say.

The server took my mother's order and walked away.

"Alright, we're here. Here's your chance to say what you need to say."

My mother began to tell me her whole sad story again. I watch her plead with me, determined that nothing she said would change my mind. Then I see the server come back. "Here are your 2 iced coffees."

_Iced coffee? _I thought _maybe we have more in common than I realized. She likes to paint too. I guess I got my artistic talents from her._

"Wait. What? Why would you drink while you were pregnant with me?"

"I was an alcoholic before I got pregnant and when I found out that my baby would be born hearing it stressed me out and the drinking got worse. I guess I figured if I drank enough you would go deaf, and when that didn't happen I got upset and left. I thought whoever I left you with would raise you better than I ever could. When I was arrested for a DUI and 2 weeks later I knew I made the right choice."

I look at my mother and decide that I don't care what she did in the past. All that matters is that she's trying to make things right with me now, and if I ever wanted to know her as more than a criminal I would have to accept that that was all she could do, and the least I could do was listen to her apologize.


End file.
